


Turn the tide on my losing side

by Lalalli



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Social Media AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: Clarke doesn’t know why Thelonius Jaha keeps posting really random shit to her Facebook wall, but whatever. It’s fine. It was weird at first, but she’s used to it now.And then Bellamy gets involved and it gets weird again.





	Turn the tide on my losing side

**Author's Note:**

> My aunt is really bad at social media. Like, wow, really ridiculously bad.

As a general rule, Clarke doesn't accept friend requests on Facebook from:

  1. Friends of her parents
  2. Parents of her friends



And Thelonius Jaha is definitely both. But she remembers promising Wells that she'd look after his father and telling Thelonious at Wells’s memorial service to reach out if he ever needed her and that Wells had been Facebook friends with his father and well. She makes an exception. She figures he’ll just occasionally click ‘like’ on her pictures when they pop up on his feed, and that would be that.

Except that she forgot that Thelonious would post really random shit to Wells’s wall, and she should have figured that in Wells’s absence, it would transfer over to her.

The first time it happens, he posts a picture of a pitaya cut in half and writes, “this is fruit.”

It’s innocuous, but also really confusing. She can’t figure out the tone she’s supposed to read into it. Is it that he’d never seen it before and wanted to share his amazement with someone, like, “can you believe this is a fruit that exists?!” Or is it for her edification, like, “just so you know, this is a fruit.” Or is it a continuation of a previous conversation that she completely forgot about?

“You’re definitely overthinking it, babe,” Octavia tells her, looking up from Clarke’s phone.

“I’m just feel like I’m supposed to respond, but I have no idea what to say. I thought you could help me interpret it.”

Octavia wrinkles her nose. “How am I supposed to know?”

“He was your advisor in college,” Clarke reminds her. “I feel like that would have given you a glimpse into his psyche.”

“Yeah, no. Definitely not.” Octavia clicks the ‘like’ button for her and hands it back. “Done. You’re forgetting that’s essentially the only way you need to interact with people on Facebook.”

Clarke scowls, pocketing her phone. “Someone forgot to tell that to Jaha.”

Still, though, it’s not bad advice. So she does it every time Jaha posts a chart on her wall about how to figure out which Law and Order character she is based on her Myer Briggs type or aggressively sentimental seven-minute-long Hungarian commercials. And after a couple months, she gets used to it. It almost seems normal.

And then Bellamy gets involved and it gets weird again.

Clarke can honestly say that she rarely, if ever, thinks of Bellamy. It’s been years since she’s interacted with him in person with any kind of regularity. When she and Octavia were in elementary school, he babysat them at the Blake house after school, making them ants on a log and keeping one eye on them while he did his homework.

When they were in middle school, Bellamy got his driver's license, which Octavia and Clarke ruthlessly took advantage of. They made him drive them everywhere, which Bellamy pretended was a huge inconvenience, but they knew he secretly loved it. He likes to feel useful. It was always amusing for Clarke to listen to Bellamy and Octavia squabble and tease each other over their music choices.

Bellamy graduated from high school just as Octavia and Clarke were about to start. He left for college that fall, but he was only an hour’s drive away, so he came back at least once a month to wash his laundry and check up on Octavia. He didn’t interact with them as much, but he always hovered around, typing his essays on his laptop in the kitchen while Octavia and Clarke watched movies and gossiped in the living room.

When Clarke left for college, she didn’t visit as often as he did, only returning home when campus closed for breaks. And when her parents got divorced, she visited even less, splitting her vacation time between her mom, who kept the house, and her dad, who moved out of state.

Now that she’s been done with college for a couple years, Clarke doesn’t see Bellamy much at all. She knows he doesn’t visit as much ever since he started graduate school in New York, but he did spend the previous Christmas with Octavia and their mom. Clarke hadn’t seen him then - she had gone to visit her dad instead.

So it makes it really disconcerting when he posts a picture of his breakfast to her Facebook wall with the caption, “This is Froot (Loops).”

Clarke immediately knows _what_ he’s referencing; she just doesn’t know _why_. Clearly, she needs an expert.

She wanders out into the living room, where Octavia is watching some random Korean drama she found on Netflix, the kind where lovers are kept apart by social class and amnesia. Clarke wordlessly tosses her phone onto her lap.

It takes Octavia a couple moments to figure out what she’s looking at, but when she does, she groans, “Oh my God, he’s such a fucking dork.”

It doesn’t do much to clear up the situation, so Clarke persists, “But why?”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “I told him about your continuing saga with Jaha, and he could not stop laughing. He’s just trying to be funny.” She pauses and frowns, reconsidering. “That, or trying to prove he can be worse at social media. That is equally likely.”

Clarke grimaces, a bit alarmed. “Why are you guys talking about me?”

Octavia shrugs. “Sometimes when we Skype, I run out of my own stories to tell, so I tell him yours.”

Clarke cannot even fathom why Octavia would think Bellamy would find anything about her life interesting. “Why? Does he even remember who I am?”

Octavia shoots her a look that’s supremely unimpressed. “When would he have had a chance to forget you? You’re always around.”

“But he’s not,” Clarke points out.

Octavia hums, unbothered. “Yeah, But you’re in all my stories. And it’s not like I don’t talk to you about what’s going on with him.”

“Yeah, but he’s your brother.”

“And you’re my roommate,” Octavia points out.

Clarke frowns down at her phone. “So what do I do here? Just press ‘like’, same as Jaha?”

Octavia lazily waves her hand, unbothered. “With Bell? Just tell him he’s a fucking idiot.”

In the end, Clarke just writes, _Yes, Bell, that is a lovely bowl of cereal. Toucan Sam would be proud_.

Bellamy reacts with a heart, and that’s the end of that.

Except it’s not.

After a month, Clarke’s pretty sure that her entire wall primarily consists of weird shit from Jaha and Bellamy. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so embarrassing.

Finally, when Bellamy shares a checklist entitled, “Only People Who Grew Up in the Nineties Will Remember These!” Clarke decides to respond.

 **Clarke** : Actually, I’m pretty sure Avril didn’t become popular until the early aughts. I distinctly remember wearing ties with my t-shirts in middle school.

 **Bellamy** : How could I have forgotten your Avril phase. You should write a strongly worded letter to the I Love the Nineties Facebook group.

 **Clarke** : I know you’re being sarcastic, but I’m already halfway through writing it.

 **Clarke** : Do you have your own I Love the Nineties fan page? As in, AD 90?

 **Bellamy** : who else is going to remind everyone of the badassery of Pliny the Younger?

 **Clarke** : clearly, I am not as cool or cultured as you are, as he reached his zenith in popularity before my time.

Clarke bites her lip as she switches over to Messenger and types, _Be honest, what percentage of this is making fun of Jaha vs. being in a weird competition with him over the most egregious misuse of social media?_

 **Bellamy** : eh, probably like 40-60

*

 **Thelonius Jaha** : Hi Clarke, this is Thelonius. Will you be joining your mom at the benefit for the  
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour  
1 teaspoon baking soda  
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon  
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt  
1 1/2 cups mashed brown bananas  
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled  
1/4 cup canola, vegetable oil, or melted coconut oil  
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar  
1 large egg, at room temperature  
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Heat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9-by-5-inch loaf pan with nonstick cooking spray and set aside.  
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. Set aside.  
In a large bowl, mash the ripe bananas with a fork. Add the melted butter and oil and stir until combined. Stir in the brown sugar, egg, and vanilla extract. Stir until smooth.  
Stir the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients, don’t over mix. Pour batter into prepared pan. Bake for 50-65 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the bread comes out clean. Check the bread at 50 minutes, just to be safe. Oven times vary.  
Remove the pan from the oven and set on a wire cooling rack. Let the bread cool in the pan for 10 minutes. Run a knife around the edges of the bread and carefully remove from

*

 **Bellamy** : breadsticks delivery

 **Bellamy** : Target hours

 **Bellamy** : weather forecast hourly

 **Bellamy** : how many calories are in a McDonalds Oreo McFlurry?

 **Clarke** : Are you pretending my Facebook page is Google?

 **Bellamy** : banana bread recipe

*

Octavia has always talked a lot about her brother. She can’t help it. They’re close.

It’s through Octavia that Clarke knows that Bellamy is getting his Ph.D. in Ancient History and that he wants to be a professor and that he wants Octavia to go on a trip to Italy with him when he graduates so he can geek out over remnants of ancient civilizations.

And Clarke doesn’t mind. She likes listening to Octavia talk about Bellamy, hearing the pride and affection in her voice even as she scoffs at what a nerd he is. And Clarke likes hearing about how Bellamy is doing. That’s not the issue.

No, the issue is that every time Octavia talks about Bellamy, Clarke now wonders if she spends the same amount of time talking _about_ her _to_ Bellamy. And then she wonders what stories, exactly, Octavia is telling him. Is she telling him about the time Clarke got food poisoning from the Mongolian noodle place at the mall food court? Is she telling him about the time she got so drunk that she punched a life-size cardboard cutout of Jeff Foxworthy outside a Golden Corral, thinking it was the _actual_ Jeff Foxworthy?

As it turns out, she’s completely justified in worrying that Octavia tells Bellamy way too much about her.

The next time Octavia and Clarke meet their friends for drinks, Octavia spends the night thoroughly documenting their activities for all of Instagram and sends Snapchats to Bellamy regularly throughout the night. When they get home and Octavia stumbles off to her room, Clarke sees that she’s gotten a message from Bellamy.

 **Bellamy** : I told this to O, so I’m going to tell you too. For the love of God, please drink lots of water before you fall asleep. Don’t forget what happened during your last hangover.

It would be difficult for Clarke to forget her last hangover, considering that she still only has half a toenail on her big toe.

 **Clarke** : You know, I feel like you know way too much about me. You should overshare with me so we can be even.

 **Bellamy** : send me proof that you’re drinking water and I’ll tell you about my most embarrassing hangover.

Clarke fills up a glass or water and sends him a selfie of herself drinking it.

 **Clarke** : pay up

 **Bellamy** : in college, I had a hangover so bad that I couldn’t keep anything down. Miller had to give me medicine via a suppository.

 **Clarke** : kinky

 **Bellamy** : don’t judge my kinks. I don’t judge you for hooking up with homeless people

 **Clarke** : that was ONE time! I thought she was a hipster!

 **Clarke** : Low blow, Blake.

 **Bellamy** : jk

 **Bellamy** : If you drink another glass of water, I’ll share another embarrassing story

Clarke refills her water glass.

*

Clarke’s not sure why she doesn’t tell Octavia that she’s talking to her brother. Probably because she has no idea how to bring it up without making it sound like a big deal, which it’s not. But it’s not like Octavia gave her a heads up when she was sharing all of her embarrassing stories with Bellamy, so whatever. It’s probably fine.

Besides, it’s not like she talks to Bellamy that often. Okay, so they probably send each other Facebook messages at least once a day, but it’s not about anything super deep or personal. They don’t even have each other’s phone numbers.

In fact, they don’t exchange numbers until a few months later. The night Clarke gets Bellamy’s number is also the night Clarke sees Thelonius Jaha in person for the first time since Wells’s memorial service. Her mom guilted her into going to a benefit to raise money for the charity Thelonius started in honor of Wells. It’s in a fancy ballroom and there’s a lot of politicians and CEOs there and everyone is dressed up in tuxes and evening gowns, and Wells would have hated it. Clarke and Wells used to stand in the corner and make fun of all these people, and the fact that Wells isn’t here to be her partner in crime makes her feel like her insides are rapidly rotting and decaying. She doesn’t know why she didn’t invite Octavia or Raven or _someone_ as backup.

Clarke knocks back glass after glass of champagne, then locks herself in a bathroom stall to avoid accidentally starting a fight, choosing instead to aim her belligerence towards assholes on Facebook. She’s in the middle of an all-caps takedown of someone criticizing school walkouts when she receives a notification that Bellamy has posted something to her wall. It’s one of those inspirational memes, the words a stark white against a seascape backdrop: _every day is another opportunity to fuck it all up again._

Clarke starts howling with laughter, absolutely wild with it. It’s not even that funny, it’s just so fitting.

 **Clarke** : truer words were never Spokane.

 **Clarke** : Stroked.

 **Clarke** : Dammit.

 **Clarke** : Spoken.

 **Clarke** : send me another one.

Bellamy immediately sends her one that says _It’s never too late to go back to bed_.

 **Clarke** : if only that were true

 **Clarke** : it became too late two hours ago when I arrived at this stupid benefit.

 **Clarke** : now I’m drunk and sad and stuck here

 **Bellamy** : want me to call you an Uber?

 **Clarke** : do you even know horn to do that? Aren’t you a kiddo Texas?

 **Bellamy** : ????

 **Clarke** : a LUDDITE. Stupid automatic

 **Clarke** : AUTHORITIES

 **Clarke** : AUTOCORRECT

 **Clarke** : whatever you knew what I meant

 **Bellamy** : I really, really didn’t.

 **Bellamy** : are you ok?

 **Clarke** : just a little drunk. I know it seems like I’m drunk a lot, but I swear I’m not an alcoholic. You don’t have to worry.

 **Bellamy** : too late

 **Bellamy** : I always worry

 **Bellamy** : completely unrelated to your alcohol consumption

 **Bellamy** : but yeah, this time it’s a little related

 **Clarke** : you seriously don’t have to worry. My moms around here somewhere.

 **Bellamy** : is that supposed to make me worry LESS?

 **Bellamy** : what’s your number?

 **Clarke** : why?

 **Bellamy** : so I can call you an Uber

 **Clarke** : you really don’t have to. I’m not even around people right now. I’m just hanging out in the bathroom

 **Clarke** : it’s pretty chill

 **Bellamy** : jfc

A couple minutes later, her phone starts ringing. She doesn’t recognize the number, but she has a feeling.

“How’d you get my number?”

“I asked Octavia.” Has his voice always been this deep and husky? She feels like she would have remembered if it were. “You should go wait outside. There’s an Uber on the way for you.”

“How do you even know where I am?”

“Again. Octavia.”

She stumbles out of the bathroom stall. “How will I know which one it is?”

“It’s a blue Civic.”

Clarke giggles a little too loudly. A couple guests turn to frown at her as she staggers through the hotel lobby.

“I’m not sure why that’s funny, but okay,” Bellamy says, his voice dry.

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“That’s not how that’s...you know what? It’s okay. I’m going to let it go this time. Are you outside yet?”

“Fucking fuck, it’s cold.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Stay on the phone with me, okay?”

And she does. She stays on the phone with him through the whole drive home, through drinking roughly a gallon of water and eating a sleeve of Ritz crackers, through wiggling out of her dress and falling into bed.

Clarke drifts to sleep with his voice in her ear, her phone warm between her head and her pillow.

*

“Do we need to talk about you and my brother?”

Clarke flops her head down on the table, her forehead cushioned by her folded arms. “Can we do this when I’m not horrifically hungover?”

Octavia slides a cup of black coffee towards Clarke. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen him direct the full force of his worry towards someone who isn’t me before. It was kind of impressive.”

Clarke groans. “He’s such a big brother.”

Octavia snorts. “Yeah, that’s _exactly_ what’s going on here.”

*

 **Bellamy** : https://www.yahoo.com/search?=potayto +potahto+idiom+correct+usage&ckm

 **Clarke** : I feel like I know so much more now. For example, I now know that you are the only person under 50 whose search engine of choice is YAHOO.

 **Bellamy** : only because I get redirected when I try to go to altavista.

*

“Can Bellamy stay on our couch for a few days next month?”

Clarke is pretty sure her voice is casual and unaffected when she asks, “Oh? Is he visiting?”

Octavia, thankfully, is too busy rummaging through the fridge to see whatever it is that Clarke’s face is doing. “Yeah, he has couple job interviews in the area.”

“Oh, right. He just presented his dissertation, didn’t he?” Clarke doesn’t know why she’s pretending to only have a vague recollection, considering that Bellamy had been texting her daily updates along the lines of _only idiots willingly subject themselves to this. What the fuck was I thinking?_ leading up to the presentation.

Judging from the look on Octavia’s face when she turns to face Clarke, she also knows that Clarke’s full of shit. “I’m pretty sure you know way more about his dissertation than I do.”

Clarke hums noncommittally, concentrating intently on eating her cereal. “It’s fine with me if he stays here,” she says, steering the conversation back to Octavia's original question.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Oh good,” she says, her voice dry. “I was really worried.”

*

 **Bellamy** : hey, I’m trying to get in touch with O - I was able to get on an earlier flight, so I’m here sooner than expected. Is she with you?

 **Clarke** : she’s at the movies with Lincoln, so she probably has her phone on silent. I can come get you if you want.

 **Bellamy** : that would be great. Thanks.

*

Bellamy is waiting out on the curb outside of baggage claim when Clarke arrives at the airport.

“Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Clarke calls out to him as soon as she gets out of the car.

“Not at all. Thanks for coming to get me,” he says, lifting his suitcase into the trunk. Once Clarke slams the trunk door closed, Bellamy turns to look at her appraisingly, lifting his arms a bit like he’s not sure whether or not to hug her. Clarke steps in just as he puts his arms down, and they laugh. “Hug?” Bellamy suggests.

“Hug,” Clarke agrees, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his torso.

A car honks at them basically immediately, so Clarke only has about half a second to appreciate how _firm_ he is. Seriously, he makes it sound like all he ever does is work and grade and read, but he obviously makes time for the gym.

Once they’re alone in the car, Clarke worries for a moment that the ease with which they communicate online won’t translate to real life, but once she asks him how his flight was, they don’t stop talking for the entire drive home.

Clarke has always been a cautious driver - always kept her hands at 10 and 2, always sat ramrod straight with her jaw clenched and eyes focused unfailingly on the road, always kept distractions to a minimum. Unfortunately, Bellamy sitting in the passenger seat is absurdly distracting. Clarke can’t help but glance at him every three seconds to catalogue all the changes she sees in him.

Bellamy has always been attractive. Clarke has always known that Bellamy is attractive. It’s pretty much an objective fact. The sky is blue, water is wet, Bellamy Blake is attractive.

But seeing him now, after having spent so much time apart and after getting to know him so much better, all the features that made him attractive before are somehow even more pronounced. She doesn’t think she ever really properly appreciated all his freckles, his messy curls, his huge arms, before now.

And once they get home and she can look at him for longer than stolen half-second glances, she can further appreciate the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders, the way the corners of his lips quirk up when he’s amused, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he’s sincerely delighted, the way he tucks his chin down when he’s being self-deprecating.

Clarke really is trying her best to not blatantly drool over him, but from the way Octavia keeps giving her pitying looks, she’s probably being distressingly obvious. Before Bellamy came to visit, Clarke was starting to worry that she was getting a crush on him, but now that he’s actually, physically here?

Yeah, she absolutely has it bad.

It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing to ever happen to her because again, he’s _here_. She can hear the fondness in his voice when he teases her about her inability to cook. She can see the way his eyes light up when he talks about his and Octavia’s upcoming trip to Italy and the way they soften when he tells her goodnight. She can smell him when he flops down next to her on the couch, like mint and tea tree and boy. She can feel the warm press of his arm against hers when they squeeze onto the couch together with Octavia to watch her nonsensical Korean dramas and his breath in her hair when he reaches up from behind her to get a mug from the cupboard.

Clarke has to keep telling herself not to get used to him being here. Bellamy interviewed at Arkadia University on Wednesday, he’s interviewing at University of Polis on Friday, he’s hanging out for the weekend, and then he’s gone. It’s good, she reminds herself, that he’s leaving soon. In all likelihood, he still sees her as another little sister and she needs to squash this crush like a bug.

“Okay, but counterpoint,” Raven says Friday night, slamming her beer bottle down on the table. “You know how in Emma, Mr. Knightley was like basically an adult when Emma was born and the whole time he kind of sees her as like, immature and naive?”

Clarke frowns. “Yeah, and?”

Raven leans forward. “And this nothing like that. If anything, this is like the Clueless version, and even then, this would be the woke version of Clueless where Josh had fucking waited for Cher to graduate from high school, then graduate from college, then get a steady job before hooking up with her instead of being skeevy.” She takes another swig of beer, settling back in her seat. “You’re an adult. You have a career. You’re mostly competent.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose. “Thanks, I think.” She pauses, considering. “What exactly would it take to reach complete competence?”

“Like seriously, jump him before he leaves. Or at least take your weird flirtation off Facebook, so the rest of us don’t have to see it.”

*

“Wow, I get to interact with Drunk Clarke in person.” It’s two in the morning when Clarke gets home, and judging by the fact that she can hear Bellamy but can’t see him, she assumes that he’s already lying on the couch for the night, ready for sleep.

“I’m not drunk,” Clarke protests, stumbling into the kitchen. “I’m pleasantly buzzed. And I _know_ , I’m already drinking water, you don’t have to mother hen me, Jesus.”

She walks unsteadily into the living room with a glass of water in her hand and almost immediately drops it because Bellamy is stretched out across the couch with a book in his hand and a blanket over his legs and his head on a pillow and he’s _shirtless_. It is way too much for her drunk brain to process.

She’s definitely gaping and staring at him because he’s looking more amused by the second. “You okay there, Clarke?”

She frowns at him. “It’s not fair, you know?”

Bellamy sits up. “What’s not fair? Actually, drink your water, then you can tell me.”

Clarke chugs her water and wanders over to the couch, nudging at his legs so he’ll make room for her to sit. She slumps sideways, facing Bellamy, curling her legs under her body and resting her temple against the back of the couch. “How come you get to touch your hair and I don’t?”

Bellamy laughs, surprised and pleased. “You want to touch my hair?”

Clarke nods, solemn. “It looks very nice to touch.”

“You can if you want,” he offers.

Clarke perks up. “Really?”

Bellamy tilts his head towards her. “Yeah. Go for it.”

Clarke sinks her fingers into his hair. “It’s just as soft as I thought it’d be,” she marvels.

Bellamy leans into her touch like a cat. “So what I’m getting from this conversation is that you’ve thought about touching my hair before.”

Clarke scratches her fingernails against his scalp. “Yeah. And your abs.”  
  
Bellamy coughs. “Um, you should probably drink another glass of water.”

“And then I can touch your abs?”

Bellamy gently nudges her off the couch. “No, but I’ll tell you another embarrassing story.”

Clarke holds out her hand for him to shake. “Deal.”

Bellamy’s hand wraps around hers, warm and firm. Clarke basically wants to never let go. She wants to hold hands with him all the time, while they’re watching movies together and while they’re walking down the street together and while they stand in obscenely long lines to get cronuts.

“Okay, but you have to drink water first,” Bellamy says, and it’s possible Clarke might have just said all of that out loud. She scrambles off to the kitchen before she can say anything else incriminating.

She returns to the living room with her water and downs it in front of him. She flops down on the couch again and grins, looking at him expectantly.

Bellamy takes her hand again. “So, um,” he starts, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat and starts over. “So there was this time when I visited Octavia and she spent the entire visit making fun of me for having a thing for you. Like, ruthlessly. And she got Miller and everyone in on it too.”

Clarke frowns. “That’s not very nice of her.”

Bellamy huffs. “That’s really not the salient issue here, Clarke.”

“Oh.” Clarke replays his words in her head. “ _Oh_. You had a thing for me? When was this?”

Bellamy scratches behind his ear. “Well, the first time was when you were a junior in college. We were both home for Christmas, remember? And you were over all the time because-”

“My mom had just started dating Kane,” Clarke finishes for him. She looks at him carefully, studying his face. She vaguely remembers Bellamy interacting with them more, inviting himself to watch movies with them and letting Clarke paint his toenails, but. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I uh, I got over it pretty quick because you were with Lexa at the time and I thought you were only into women.”

Clarke barks out a laugh. “Wow. I thought you were only hanging around us all the time to annoy Octavia.”

Bellamy shrugs, his smile lopsided. “Well, that too. I’m pretty good at multitasking.”

Clarke furrows her brow, frowning because she knows she’s missing something. There’s something else he said that she knows is important. “Wait. Did you say the first time? There was a second time?”

Bellamy stares down at their joined hands, his thumb moving over her knuckles. “Yeah. And this time it was an even bigger crush than the first time because we’d been talking a lot and I’d really gotten to know you, you know?”

Clarke stares at him unblinkingly. “But we didn’t really see each other much after I graduated.”

Bellamy nods patiently, apparently willing to let Clarke talk herself through it.

“And we only really started talking again this past year.” Clarke bites her lip. There’s really only one other time that would fit the time frame he’s describing, but it seems to good to be true. It’s got to be drunken wishful thinking. “You’re talking about this visit right now?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy exhales heavily. “Yeah. I am.”

Clarke stares down at their hands. “Wow,” she breathes, disbelieving. It didn’t seem possible, especially considering -

Suddenly, she scowls and tears her hand away from his. “Then how come you wouldn’t let me touch your abs?” Clarke demands accusingly.

Bellamy laughs. “Because you’re drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re sober,” Clarke argues. “You can consent to getting your abs touched.”

Bellamy leans forward and presses a dry kiss to her forehead. “Tell you what. If you still want to touch my abs in the morning, then you can.”

“I’ll want to touch more than your abs,” Clarke warns him.

“Even better. Now go to bed.”

Clarke wills herself to fall asleep immediately upon dropping onto her mattress, figuring that morning will come more quickly that way.

*

Clarke’s hangover when she wakes up isn’t terrible, all things considered. That second glass of water was a good call.

She wasn’t so drunk last night that she can’t remember everything she said to Bellamy. She knows that she essentially said and did a lot of things that, in other circumstances, would have been totally inappropriate and embarrassing.

But she doesn’t even have it in her to be embarrassed because Bellamy _likes_ her. And he’s _here_ , in her apartment. And he basically agreed to let her have her way with him.

Granted, it was promised in order to get her to bed, but still. She doubts he’ll take it back.

Clarke walks into the living room expecting Bellamy to be lying on the couch for her, ready to pick back up where they left off. Instead, he’s in the kitchen with Octavia, which is great. Just great.

“Welcome to the world of the living,” Octavia greets her when she enters the kitchen. “Bellamy’s making waffles.”

“Sounds good.” Clarke heads straight for the coffee maker, reaching in between Octavia and Bellamy for the pot. Her arm brushes against Bellamy’s, and when she glances at him, he’s looking at her with a soft and private smile on his face. She takes a step back to lean against the sink, hiding her own smile in her mug as she sips from it.

Octavia looks between the two of them, her face twisted in disgust. “Ugh. You two are gross. At least let me eat my waffles before you start touching each other’s abs.”

Clarke chokes on her coffee.

Bellamy seems unfazed. “Everyone knows that waffles are just pancakes with abs, so don't even pretend you don’t want in on the abs action.”

“You told her?” Clarke asks in disbelief. Apparently, both Blake siblings are keen on telling each other embarrassing Clarke stories.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “He didn’t have to. Do you know how loud you are when you’re drunk?”

“Unbelievably loud,” Bellamy agrees.

Clarke sighs. “Potayto, potahto.”

“What?” Bellamy asks, incredulous. “Seriously, not how that’s used. Did you even read the link I -” Bellamy breaks off when he notices the grin spreading across Clarke’s face. “Oh, you’re fucking with me. Thanks for that.”

Clarke shrugs. “The cat’s out of the bag.”

“Stop.”

“No use crying over spilt milk.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

“How long, exactly, have you been preparing for this?”

“Potayto, potahto.”

Octavia shakes her head, walking out of the kitchen. “ _So_ gross.”

Bellamy and Clarke manage to make it through breakfast with minimal eye-fucking, then use dish-washing as an excuse to invade each other’s space, reaching across each other to grab the dish soap or to place something in the drying rack.

The minute Octavia leaves the apartment, Bellamy drops the plate he’s washing and reaches for Clarke, cupping her face with soapy hands and leaning in to kiss her, a little bit desperate, as though he’s been holding back and he’s letting out years of affection and longing all at once.

Clarke smiles into it, winding her hands in his hair before trailing a hand down his torso so she can slip it under the hem of his shirt. She can feel Bellamy’s grin widen.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just appreciating your waffle,” she jokes.

Bellamy snorts. “Hot. You really know how to talk dirty.” But his hands move down to grip her hips, so he must be into it.

“You don’t like that?” Clarke pretends to pout. “But nothing gets me in the mood like carbs.”

“I swear to God, if you mention potatoes one more time, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Clarke takes Bellamy’s hand and tugs him towards her bedroom. “Not when we’re just getting started.”

*

Clarke Griffin _changed her relationship status to_ In a Relationship with Bellamy Blake.

*

Octavia Blake _tagged_ Bellamy Blake _in 10 photos in the album_ La Dolce Vita.

*

Bellamy Blake _tagged_ Octavia Blake _in 3 photos in the album_ Italy.

*

Bellamy Blake _added a new work experience_ : Professor of History at Arkadia University.

*

Clarke Griffin _tagged_ Bellamy Blake _in 1 photo._  
**Clarke** : This is potato.

 **Bellamy** : Dammit, Clarke.


End file.
